


Coward

by ScottieIsImpatient



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Drown Malcolm Reed Month, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, why does travis & malcolm not have their own tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: Malcolm makes a mistake on an away mission that almost costs Captain Archer his life. Trip is angry. Malcolm blames himself. Travis tries to help.And then things get worse.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed & Charles "Trip" Tucker III, Travis Mayweather & Malcolm Reed
Comments: 25
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read, all mistakes are on me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, this little prompt came to me while i was writing a new trip/malcolm story (which will also hopefully be up later this month). All my brain gave me was this scene of Trip yelling to Malcolm "you ARE a coward!" and it refused to give me anything else. So I just went with it.
> 
> Originally I was gonna give Hoshi the part that Travis has now, but then I thought our favourite helmsman needed some love. After all, the writers didn't do much with him lmao.
> 
> To be clear, this isn't a slash fic for any ships, but could be read that way I guess? Idk. Read it how you want lol. There will be two parts so stay tuned.

“Y’know what? You _are_ a coward! Yer a friggin’ coward, Malcolm!”

Commander Tucker’s face had gone red with anger, his eyes shooting daggers that drove themselves directly into Malcolm’s chest. The pain was almost physical, but Malcolm forced himself to keep a straight face. He deserved this, after all. He deserved everything that was coming to him.

“You always pride yerself on keepin’ this crew safe, always insistin’ on yer god damn security protocols. But when someone really needed yer help, the hell did you do? Turn tail and run!” Trip took a step closer and for one terrifying moment, Malcolm was sure he was going to hit him. “Yer lucky those Kuriki came along when they did,” the Commander snarled, “else the Cap’n, Dillard, an’ I would be dead.”

 _Speak,_ Malcolm’s mind screamed. _Speak, god damn it! Don’t just stand there looking like an idiot!_ “I… apologize, sir.”

The Commander only continued to glare. “That’s not gonna change anythin’, Lieutenant, and you know it.” He stepped back, running a hand through dirty blond hair and sighing. Dark bruises still marred his face. “Get outta here. Yer off duty fer the rest of the day, an’ I better not see yer ass anywhere _near_ the armoury or engineerin’, is that clear?”

“Clear, sir,” Malcolm muttered.

He kept his gaze down as he went back to his quarters. One of his men tried to stop him in the halls but he carried on like he’d not noticed, fully aware how cold he seemed. The situation played over and over again in his mind, and every time it did, the worse the feeling of guilt got. Commander Tucker was right. For all the things Malcolm preached, all the complaints about the Captain’s lax security protocols, it hadn’t done them any good on this particular mission. Malcolm had frozen up. All because he was afraid of drowning.

Two days ago, Captain Archer had received an invitation to meet with a race known as the Kuriki on a planet named Kurik. Unbeknownst to them at the time, the planet was almost entirely water. What little land masses that existed were small and unable to sustain the local population. Archer had been hesitant to let Malcolm down, but the Lieutenant had insisted on it. The Kuriki had just come out of an interplanetary war with their neighbours, the W’Qarai, and peace treaty or not, there was no way Malcolm would let his captain down there without proper security.

Sometimes it was scary how he seemed to have a sixth sense.

One of the water vessels – you couldn’t really call them boats, they seemed to hover above the water rather than cut through it – had an engine blow out. Commander Tucker and one of the Engineering crew had climbed over to try and fix it. No sooner had the Commander declared in confusion that the engine trouble was a clear sabotage than one of the Kuriki – or what they thought was a Kuriki – bashed him over the head with the butt of a pistol. Trip had been thrown into the water and Malcolm couldn’t tell if he was still conscious or not.

The next few minutes passed by in a blur. Malcolm could dimly remember drawing his own phase pistol, the sound of an alien voice spouting translated threats. Something about blaming the Kuriki for this and finally having a reason to break the peace treaty. It sounded little more than paranoid mania on Malcolm’s ears.

Suddenly guns were firing, and lights were flashing, and boats were sinking, and voices were yelling at him to _move, damnit, before you get yourself killed!_

But Malcolm’s feet were glued to the floor. He could only watch in horror as a W’Qarai disguised as Kuriki drew a knife and lunged for the Captain. The blade was buried up to the hilt just right of the Captain’s heart. Malcolm could remember raising his hand to fire but no matter what he did his fingers wouldn’t pull the trigger. There was water pooling at his feet as the boat began to sink. All he could think of was the fact that he was surely going to drown.

The sound of an engine dragged him from his morbid thoughts. More gunfire ensued; this time aimed at the W’Qarai. A much larger boat came speeding by and the friendly though determined blue faces of genuine Kuriki stared at the scene. Rescue.

And suddenly Malcolm could move again.

He lunged for the new boat. As he collided against the railings the air left his lungs with an audible _woof_ , though he never stopped scrambling, and soon there were hands on him, lifting him over and onto the hard wood deck.

He’d never even looked back to make sure the rest of the away team were okay.

Trip had every right to be angry with him.

The Captain was still in sickbay recovering and would likely remain there for the next few weeks, if not a month. Crewman Dillard was off duty as well with a broken arm and concussion. Aside from Malcolm himself, Trip was the least injured, receiving only bumps and bruises. It could have been a lot worse. According to the Kuriki who had rescued them, Trip had been taking on the guy who’d stabbed Archer when they came along.

It should have been Malcolm doing that. It should have been Malcolm fighting for the Captain’s life. Instead, he’d let his fear overwhelm him, driving him to panic.

Malcolm slumped into his quarters. He had no energy left to get out of uniform, much less make it to his bed.

He slept sprawled out on his floor that night. It was the least he deserved.

* * *

Trip shook his head as he watched Malcolm slink out of engineering. Perhaps he’d been too harsh, let his temper get the best of him, but, hell, the Captain had almost died down there! Trip could still remember the horror he felt when he saw the W’Qarai drive the knife into Archer’s chest. Archer’s look of pain and confusion was forever burned into his memory.

Trip had called out to Malcolm. Malcolm was the one with the phase pistol. Malcolm was the one with the experience. But then the W’Qarai had started to sink their boats and Malcolm had frozen up. Not only that, but the moment help came along, he’d immediately lunged for it without any thought given to his fellow officers.

Archer almost died in the frantic rush back to _Enterprise._ The water had only allowed the blood to leak faster. By the time the shuttlepod had docked, Trip was sure they’d lost him.

 _Too little too late for your apologies, Malcolm,_ Trip thought to the no longer present Lieutenant. The Captain was fine, of course. Well, as fine as one could be after almost getting stabbed in the heart. According to Phlox, half an inch to the left and they really _would_ have lost him.

Trip sighed and tossed the remainder of his tools back into his toolbox. He clearly wasn’t getting any more work done tonight. Handing over command to the gamma shift, he put away his supplies and stepped out into the hall.

* * *

When was the last time he’d eaten? Twenty-four, no, thirty-six hours ago? And yet he still couldn’t find his appetite.

Malcolm stared at his untouched tray like it would bite him. Warm whole wheat toast, a fresh omelette, topped off with a hash brown and a glass of cranberry juice.

The juice looked a lot like waterlogged blood.

He was so lost in thought he didn’t notice Travis sit down across from him until the helmsman reached out and tapped him lightly on the hand. Malcolm startled, drawing in a harsh breath, and Travis frowned. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t realize you found breakfast so interesting.”

“Travis,” Malcolm breathed, running a hand through his hair. Travis had piloted the shuttlepod on the way back up to _Enterprise_ , while Captain Archer was bleeding out in the back and Malcolm was curled up in a corner, useless, shaking madly. “Uh, no, don-don’t worry about it.” Was that really his voice? Damn, he sounded like a terrified child.

Clearly Travis caught this too, for his expression shifted into concern. “Malcolm, are you okay?”

Malcolm’s automatic response system kicked into gear. “Fine,” he assured the helmsman. “Just, uh, distracted.”

“No kiddin’.” Travis shook his head, digging into his own food with gusto. “I had to take over for Miller last night, since she sprained her wrist. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”

Ensign Miller. Another away team member. Malcolm flinched at the memory of her being tackled by a W’Qarai. _Useless,_ his mind screamed. _Useless, useless._

Travis, bless him, clearly realized he’d unintentionally steered the conversation into an unwelcome direction. With a cough he quickly changed the subject. “So… how are things in the armoury?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Malcolm answered flatly. Suddenly he felt trapped, suffocated. The mess hall was too crowded, and he didn’t feel like talking anymore and to make matters worse, Commander Tucker had just walked in.

The two stared at each other for a moment. Anger, hatred, and despair all flashed in Trip’s eyes before the moment broke and he turned to talk to an Engineering crewmember who had come up behind him.

Tears began to sting Malcolm’s eyes. Commander Tucker was the one man he was closest to on _Enterprise,_ the one man he could trust. He couldn’t bear the thought of his only friend hating him.

 _Friend,_ sneered his mind. _You didn’t come out here to make_ friends, _Reed. You don’t deserve them anyway. It was bound to happen sooner or later. How pathetic are you to rely on one man?_

“Lieutenant?” Travis asked, dragging him back to the present. His voice was soft with worry. Pity. “Are you okay?”

“Excuse me, Ensign.” Malcolm stood and all but bolted from the mess hall.

* * *

To say Trip felt nothing would be a lie. After a good night’s sleep and some time to ponder on things, he’d begun to regret some of the things he’d said, particularly calling the Lieutenant a coward. He’d meant it to hurt – and judging by the way Malcolm just ran from the mess, he’d succeeded.

He didn’t feel very good about it.

Not entirely.

Well…

Trip forced down that thought and shoved a massive chunk of toast into his mouth. All through breakfast he could feel someone’s eyes on him, and it was only when he was polishing off his glass of milk that he caught sight of one Travis Mayweather.

Though the helmsman’s own tray was empty, an untouched one lay on the table across from him. This confused Trip for a moment, and then the realization sunk in.

That was Malcolm’s tray.

He hadn’t touched his breakfast. And from experience, that wasn’t a good sign.

Trip quickly excused himself and rushed into the corridors. There were four places Malcolm could be: his quarters, the armoury, the gym, or the bridge. And the Jefferies tubes, he supposed, but Malcolm wasn’t one to hole himself up alone when upset.

Upset. Trip had made him upset.

No, he no longer felt good about his words.

Trip checked Malcolm’s quarters first. No luck. The armoury hadn’t seen him either. When the gym doors flew open, the sound of flesh meeting fabric caught his ears, and he knew he’d found the right place. “Malcolm?”

The Lieutenant was positioned at one of the farther punching bags. He hadn’t heard – or perhaps he didn’t care. “Malcolm?” Trip called again, stepping closer.

Malcolm didn’t even take his eyes off the bag as he snarled, “what do you want?”

The tone took Trip back slightly, though he didn’t waver. “Malcolm, stop that before you hurt yerself. Yer drippin’ in sweat and yer hands are-”

“Since when do you care?” Malcolm interrupted.

Trip blinked at him. “’s’cuse me?”

Finally stopping his assault on the punching bag, Malcolm turned to face him, and for the first time Trip noticed the state he was in. Barring the blood that had begun to cake on his knuckles from insistent punching, dark circles around the Lieutenant’s eyes indicated he hadn’t slept – at least not well – and his grey eyes were dull, almost lifeless. “Since when do you care?” Malcolm repeated.

“That’s what friend’s d-”

“I wasn’t aware you were my friend.”

Ouch. Perhaps their security officer was capable of more types of hurt than just physical. Trip swallowed down the anger that had begun to rise and continued. “Would ya just listen to me, Malcolm? I know I said some nasty stuff the other day. I know I hurt you. Hell, Malcolm, we’d only _just_ found out the Captain would live! I was wound up tighter than Chef’s dishcloths when he’s havin’ a bad day; y’know how I get. I’m sorry for all that. I still want to be yer friend.”

Malcolm only stared at him. On some level, this was worse than if he’d yelled. Trip swallowed. “At least tell me what’s goin’ on. I’ve never seen ya freeze up an’ panic the way you did down on Kurik. What happened?”

“You were right, Commander,” Malcolm said softly.

Trip raised an eyebrow, not understanding. “Huh? What d’you mean?”

“I am a coward.”

* * *

He waited. He waited for Trip to say something, to convince him otherwise. No such words came. Eventually, Malcolm gave a defeated sigh. “I’m due on the bridge in five minutes, Commander. If there’s anything else you wish to say about me, please do so now.”

Trip flinched, and Malcolm only found pride. Two could play at that game.

“I’ll see you… whenever, then.”

Maybe Trip called out after him and maybe he did not. All of Malcolm’s concentration was on not breaking down in the middle of the corridors.

* * *

The day passed by in a blur. Nothing blew up in engineering, there were no planets anywhere on their direct course, nor any in any other direction. The crew of the _Enterprise_ were bored. And if there was one thing Trip couldn’t stand, it was being bored.

Having little to do meant his thoughts kept running, jumbling, tripping over themselves, and on that day they all seemed to lead back to Malcolm.

The Lieutenant was hiding something, no doubt about it. They’d been in so many dangerous situations and he’d never shown the same panic he did those two days ago. Hell, he was more subdued with a spike through his leg than during their most recent ordeal. Never had he abandoned his crewmates in a time of need, either. Something was going on.

Normally Trip would talk to the captain about it. However, he was still recovering in sickbay, still hopped up on so many drugs he couldn’t even remember where he was. It didn’t stop Trip from talking _to_ him, though.

“It’s the strangest thing,” he rambled to the unconscious older man. “He seems so withdrawn lately. Yeah, I know, that don’t mean much when it comes ta Malcolm, but I _swear_ there’s somethin’ off about ‘im. Jus’ the way he was actin’ down on that planet – well, you saw it, Jon. He was terrified as hell. Couldn’t even hold the phase pistol without shakin’.” The anger had begun to dissipate when Trip really recalled what had transpired that day, instead morphing into guilty wonder. Malcolm had been shaking like a leaf as the W’Qarai attacked and he hadn’t stopped until they’d gotten to decon. He’d refused to speak to anyone; refused to be treated for the gash on his head. He’d gone straight to his quarters, where Trip had presumed he’d fallen asleep.

That obviously was not the case.

“Isn’t it time for you to get back to work, Commander?” Phlox chirped.

With a sigh, Trip lifted himself onto his feet and started for the door. He didn’t even have to reach for the control panels, as someone on the other side did it for him. Trip froze in his tracks.

Looking dishevelled and clearly shaking, Malcolm stumbled through the entrance, Travis following quickly behind him, a concerned frown on his face. Neither of them glanced at Trip as they went past.

“What seems to be the trouble, gentlemen?” Phlox asked. A scanner already in his hand, he took the unsteady Lieutenant by the arm and helped him to a bio-bed.

“It’s nothing,” Malcolm insisted weakly. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“If I may say so, sir, collapsing in the middle of the corridor seems like a big deal to me,” Travis scolded, as if Malcolm were a small disobedient child. Malcolm huffed a sigh of annoyance.

The words echoed in Trip’s brain. _Collapsing. Malcolm collapsing. Malcolm had collapsed. Oh, gawd._ Suddenly feeling as if he were intruding, Trip ducked through the frosted glass doors. Only Travis watched him go, his frown deepening.

* * *

Malcolm had been on his way to the mess hall. Really, he had. He was just over halfway there when his bad eating habits caught up with him. Nausea hit like a brick, the floor swaying and bucking beneath him, legs refusing to bear his weight any longer. Fortunately, no one had seen. Except Travis, of course. Travis had come by as soon as Malcolm collapsed against the wall. Though he’d insisted that all he needed was a bit of food, the helmsman hadn’t listened, dragging him to sickbay instead.

And just who did they have to run into in sickbay? Trip. Commander Tucker, Malcolm mentally corrected himself. Trip was a nickname the man reserved for his friends. Malcolm had avoided the Commander’s gaze as he was led to a bio-bed, not only out of humiliation but out of exhaustion as well. He just couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time.

Phlox gave him a hypospray and recommended high-protein foods such as meat or dairy. Malcolm only caught half of what he said. Before long, Travis was taking him by the arm again and steering him towards the door.

“Mess hall?” Malcolm gambled.

Travis shook his head. “Your quarters. I figured you wouldn’t want to be seen by the rest of the crew stumbling into the mess hall looking half dead.”

“Is that really how I look?”

“Well…” Travis offered a boyish grin. Moving on, he said, “I’ll bring you a tray of something. I believe there’s a bottle of whisky stashed away in my quarters, too. That is, if my roommate hasn’t discovered it and polished it off.”

Malcolm felt heat flood to his already flushed cheeks. “That’s really not necessary, Ensign.”

“Nonsense,” the helmsman admonished. “It’s what friends are for.”

They reached Malcolm’s quarters in silence. Malcolm keyed in his code, nodding in affirmation as Travis told him he’d be right back, before he stepped into his room and towards his awaiting bed. _Friend._ Travis had called Malcolm his friend.

Suddenly Malcolm felt just a little bit better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Reupload to fix a few things)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sooooo...
> 
> This turned out longer than I expected. MUCH longer. Hence the extra chapter.
> 
> It gets kinda soap-opera-y in this one?? All the drama that happens?? Also Trip acts like a bit of an arsehole but he's well redeemed don't worry. I swear I love him!

“How’s it coming down here, then, Commander?”

Trip whipped his head up at the voice, forgetting he was crouched under a table. The loud _thump_ bounced off the walls, his cry of pain following momentarily, all while Captain Archer laughed.

“Cap’n,” Trip said by way of greeting. “Good to see you on yer feet again.”

“I figured I’d come by and check how you were doing,” Archer said. “Didn’t mean to cause injury. My apologies.”

Trip waved a hand. “Naw, it’s a’right. I can handle a bump on th’ head.” Throwing his hyperspanner onto the table, Trip grinned widely at his friend. “Doc let you out?”

“He did indeed,” Archer confirmed. His right arm was drawn close to his chest and bandages peeked out from beneath the loose polo. “About time, too. I was beginning to think I’d go mad being cooped up in there.”

Trip’s eyebrows went up. “After five days?”

“I know, I know. Not as bad as it could have been. God knows how many times Malcolm’s been stuck in there for days on end- Trip?”

Unconsciously, Trip had lowered his gaze at the mention of Malcolm’s name, guilt and anger rushing through him. “Sorry,” he amended with a sigh. “It’s just…” but he couldn’t find the words to finish his sentence. Archer’s look of concern heightened.

“Did something happen to Lieutenant Reed?”

“Huh? No, the Lieutenant’s perfectly fine.” He didn’t mean to, but Trip spat out the last word like it had a bad taste. “Been actin’ sorta odd recently but he’s uninjured.”

Captain Archer didn’t seem convinced. “Doctor Phlox told me that Travis brought Malcolm in yesterday for concerns about undereating. Have you talked to him? You know how he gets when an away mission fails.”

“Oh, I tried to talk,” Trip said flatly. “I may’ve… yelled at him, too. But I apologized,” he added quickly, seeing Archer’s glare, “an’ tried to ask him what was botherin’ him. He wouldn’t tell me. I’ve never seen him act that way before. An’ I’m not just talkin’ about how he abandoned us to the W’Qarai – abandoned _you._ ” Something flashed across Archer’s face, something that looked suspiciously like recognition. Trip’s eyes narrowed. He knew that look. “Is there somethin’ yer not tellin’ me?”

“Not here, Trip.” Archer’s tone had lowered to little more than a whisper. Suddenly remembering their location, Trip did the same.

“But there _is_ somethin’.”

Archer sighed in defeat. “Yes. But I don’t think I can be the one to tell you, Trip. It’s the kind of thing he should tell you himself.”

“Why?” Trip pressed. “’s it personal?”

“Drop it, Trip,” Archer warned. “Malcolm… trusted me with this bit of information and I’m not about to go betraying that trust. You know very well what a private man he is.”

 _Sometimes,_ Trip thought, _I wish he_ weren’t _so private._

Taking Trip’s silence as an answer, Archer straightened. “I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.”

“Wh- hold on. I thought you were off duty.”

The Captain turned and offered a coy smile from where’d he’d begun to walk away. “It doesn’t take much work to sit in a chair and watch over people’s shoulders, Commander. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Trip nodded, his mind already elsewhere. The anger that had reanimated within him was starting to get eaten up by guilt and curiosity. Jon knew something about Malcolm that he didn’t. Something that was very likely the cause for Malcolm’s freezing up down on Kurik. And to top things off, whatever it was, it was obviously bad enough that Jon didn’t feel the slightest bit of resentment towards Malcolm. Not that Trip could see at least.

A new emotion began to well up. Jealousy. Malcolm had a secret; something he’d told the Captain, but not Trip. Why?

Realization smacked into him. Before he’d really let loose all his anger at Malcolm, the Lieutenant had requested to see him. Said he wanted to tell him something. Malcolm hadn’t gotten farther than _“it’s to do with the incident on Kurik”_ before Trip had interrupted with a blatantly insulting remark. Malcolm’s face had twisted. At the time Trip had thought it was in anger. Rage, even.

No, Trip realized, shoving his face into his hands. Anger wasn’t the emotion Malcolm had been expressing. It was betrayal.

* * *

When the turbolift doors slid open, the last person Malcolm was expecting to see was Captain Archer. Yet there he stood, albeit out of uniform; right arm brought stiffly up to his chest and a scar just to the left of his nose, but grinning like mad.

“Captain,” T’Pol said as she stood elegantly up from the Captain’s chair. “It is agreeable to see you on the bridge, as well as a welcome surprise. I thought you were recovering in sickbay.”

“Phlox gave me the clear to wander about. So long as we don’t run into any hostile aliens, I doubt sitting and watching is going to do me much harm.”

T’Pol glanced down at the civilian clothing, looking like she wanted to comment on this, but held her tongue. “In that case, I shall return to my own station.”

Archer gave her a light clap on the shoulder as they moved past each other. Once he got settled in the throne of the bridge, he turned to Malcolm. “Status, Malcolm.”

“Oh, uh…” Malcolm rushed to pull up the display. “Our current heading is quite uninteresting, sir. Aside from a handful of uninhabited Y-class planets, there’s not much out there.”

“Good work, Lieutenant.” The Captain smiled at him and turned to T’Pol to make a further inquiry, but Malcolm wasn’t listening anymore. He could only stare at Archer in dumbfounded shock. He’d expected veiled hostility at the most; being thoroughly ignored in the least, yet the man he was proud to call his superior hadn’t showed either. In fact, he positively radiated supportive energy. Captain Archer clearly didn’t blame him for the disaster that occurred on Kurik.

 _That’s because he knows about my aquaphobia,_ Malcolm thought. _It’s simple pity. Nothing more. He probably thinks you’re incapable of doing your job and is just trying not to show it. Your Captain thinks you’re weak, Reed._

Malcolm couldn’t understand why this impacted him less than Commander Tucker’s angry accusations.

* * *

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was a difficult man to corner. He seemed to always know when someone was following him – which, Trip supposed, was one of the qualities that made him good at his job – and had access to every little nook and cranny of the ship. By his third failed attempt to catch him, Trip was starting to feel quite dissuaded. Just as he was about to give up, the perfect opportunity came around the corner.

Literally.

Malcolm was so engrossed in his PADD that he didn’t notice Trip until they bumped into each other. Malcolm looked up and the faintest hint of surprise glinted in his grey eyes before being washed away by the calm militaristic mask he always wore, and he assumed the tradition at-ease stance. “My apologies, sir. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Trip forced a smile. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve been tryna catch ya all afternoon.” Malcolm didn’t respond to this, so Trip kept going. “I, uh, wanted ta talk to you.”

“Concerning?”

Trip ran a hand through his hair and forced the words out. “I just wanted ta talk ta you about Kurik. What happened down there. To you.”

Malcolm noticeably stiffened. “I believe you have already made your thoughts and concerns known, Commander.”

“No. No, Malcolm, it’s not that,” Trip rushed to amend. “It’s not about that at all. I’m jus’ concerned, is all.”

“Concerned,” Malcolm echoed.

Trip nodded. “That’s right.”

“Concerned… about my ability to preform my duties? I assure you, sir, what happened on Kurik will not happen again. However, if you don’t believe me, feel free to write a report to the Captain. I won’t take any action against it.”

Trip gawked at the Lieutenant. How the hell could someone assume the worst so fast? “Now, hold on, Malcolm. I don’t wanna write you up. I just wanna talk ta you. No blame, nothin’. Is that so hard to believe?”

Malcolm hesitated, and suddenly Trip wanted to stuff the words right back into his mouth. “I’m afraid I have something to attend to, sir,” Malcolm finally said. “We can continue this at a later time.”

“Hey, wait.” Trip grabbed his uniform sleeve as he started to walk by. “I know I said some things. Yer holdin’ it against me an’ I don’t blame ya. I’d do the same in yer position. But I jus’ wanna better understand what yer position _is,_ Malcolm. It’s movie night tonight,” he tacked on. “Attend with me? We can talk after.”

A slight, wry smile crossed Malcolm’s lips. “Actually, Commander, that’s exactly where I was going.”

“Great! Then why don’t-”

“You didn’t let me finish,” the Lieutenant interjected. “Travis is dragging me along. Promised me some “cool action fight scenes”. His words. I’m afraid I’m all booked up for tonight.”

Trip tried very hard not to let his sadness show. “Ah. I see. Um, tomorrow, then?”

Malcolm nodded his affirmation and the two went their separate ways. Trip suddenly didn’t feel like movie night anymore.

* * *

“You’re late.”

Malcolm glanced to the dark-skinned ensign, relieved to find his ominous tone and glare were playful. Taking a seat, he cracked a grin himself and said, “sorry. Commander Tucker caught me in the halls.”

Travis nodded. “You’ve been giving each other some odd looks lately. Is there something going on?”

“Uh, no.”

“I heard some rumours there was this altercation down in engineering.”

“It was nothing,” Malcolm insisted, staring at his hands. “He just had some questions.”

“I heard it was about whatever happened down on Kurik.”

Malcolm’s grey eyes shot up to meet dark ones that danced with curious, questioning ignorance, though as he looked closer, he realized it was nothing more than an act. Their helmsman was much more knowledgeable than anyone would have thought.

“It was pretty hellish down there for a while,” Travis went on. He’d lowered his voice as the room darkened for the movie to start. “I wasn’t there, but…I really don’t think there was anything you could have done differently.”

“You’re wrong,” said Malcolm tersely. “I could have done loads differently. But I’d rather not talk about. Not right now.”

Travis, fortunately, took the hint, turning back to watch the movie. “The build-up is a little slow,” he explained, “but I promise there’s explosions.”

“You said that the last time.”

“And did I lie?”

A smirk tugged on Malcolm’s lips as he recalled the last time Travis had brought him along to what he’d called an “action-packed movie”. “A child’s baking powder volcano does _not_ count as an explosion.”

Travis only shrugged.

* * *

Trip spent the night lying in bed thinking. And wondering. And thinking some more. Though the Captain hadn’t said it straight up, there was obviously some deep-rooted issue that caused Malcolm to behave the way he did on Kurik. So, Trip recounted as much as he could remember leading up to the fateful incident, every little detail.

Malcolm had been skeptical of the Kuriki’s motives from the start, as he often was. He insisted they do a scan of the planet before they went down. Archer insisted that wasn’t necessary, for the Vulcan database had information on their species, and they were just as docile as they seemed. Their neighbours were the only threat to peace. Malcolm had moved his focus onto them instead.

A frown appeared on Trip’s face as he recalled the moment Kurik had been put on the main viewscreen. The crew were surprised to find that the planet was mostly water, though no one had any complaints.

Except Malcolm.

Trip shot up. The moment of fear that had flickered across Malcolm’s face; Archer’s sudden reluctance to let Malcolm go down there, insisting that another security officer could accompany him; the way Malcolm had frozen up when the boats began sinking.

Their stoic tactical officer was afraid of the water.

Now, how the hell was he going to bring it up in conversation without embarrassing the man?

* * *

“I can’t accept this.”

Malcolm raised his gaze only briefly, still refusing to look his Captain in the eye. “Sir?”

“I’m not accepting this.” Archer sighed, staring down at the reprimand in his hand. Then, right before Malcolm’s eyes, ripped it up and tossed it into the wastebasket. “I haven’t written you up. What makes you think you can write yourself up?”

“I-I thought-”

“This kind of reprimand could harm your reputation. Your position.” Archer’s voice softened to a tone more akin to that of a concerned father. “I’m not letting you do that over one little incident.”

Malcolm adjusted his weight and tried to keep his rising fury down. “With respect, sir, that _one little incident_ almost cost you your life.”

“But it didn’t, did it?” Archer challenged. “I’m still standing here in front of you. Malcolm, I understand where you’re coming from. I know you keep yourself on a tight set of rules, with little to no room for failure. Just hear me out, will you? Aside from this one blip, your record is flawless.” _The record you can see, that is,_ Malcolm thought darkly. “You got scared. You froze up. It happens to the best of us.”

“I can’t afford to just ‘freeze up’, sir,” Malcolm protested. “I’m responsible for your safety. For everyone’s safety. I shouldn’t let a small fear get the best of me the way it did.”

Archer fell back into his chair with a sigh, bringing a hand to his head. “A phobia is not a simple fear and we both know that, but I’m not here to argue with you on word terminology. Did you screw up? Yes. Would you have done things differently? I know you would. But _could_ you have done things differently?” Archer’s green gaze seemed to stare directly into Malcolm’s soul and Malcolm suddenly found himself at a loss for a response. “We were on a planet that was virtually entirely water, stuck on sinking boats with a handful of deranged aliens with a half-assed plan to start a war. Things happened pretty fast, as I recall. I doubt there was anything you could have done.”

Realization dawned on Malcolm and he lowered his head in shame. “I’m not talking about my actions during the scuffle, sir. I’m talking about what happened after.”

Archer raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“The rescue boat,” Malcolm went on. “These Kuriki came along to help us. I just leapt towards their boat, thinking of no one but myself. It didn’t even occur to me that others may be in danger. I made a selfish, cowardly decision, sir, and i-it just wouldn’t sit right with me if I let it slide.”

For a long, agonizing minute, the two men merely stared at each other. Malcolm swallowed thickly, so sure that this meant the end of his career as chief tactical officer aboard _Enterprise._

Finally, the Captain opened his mouth to speak. “I won’t lie, Malcolm. That does sound quite selfish.” He held a hand up to keep the Lieutenant from interrupting. “But you were in an environment surrounded by something you fear greatly. I don’t expect anyone, tactical officer or otherwise, to keep a level head in that situation.”

Malcolm didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded instead.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can include a minor notation in my report.”

“Thank you, sir,” Malcolm breathed, not stopping to think how odd his relief may sound.

Archer, predictively, gave him a funny look and a smile. “Don’t forget; you’re only human. Now go quadruple check the torpedoes so we can accurately blow bad guys out of the sky.”

Malcolm didn’t acknowledge the playful jab, choosing to murmur a quick, “sir” instead, and stepped out of the ready room. He felt rather torn. The Captain may have forgiven him, understood the internal conflict he’d faced, but Malcolm never liked letting himself off the hook that easy.

So lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Commander Tucker until the man had grabbed him by the arm. Malcolm acted quickly and on instinct; jerking his arm, he spun on his heel and assumed a defensive stance, fists at the ready.

* * *

Number one rule of Malcolm Reed: never sneak up on him. Somehow, Trip had forgotten all about that. As Malcolm immediately assumed a fight stance, Trip stumbled backwards to avoid any flying fists, eyes wide. “Easy, Malcolm, easy! ‘s just me.”

Malcolm relaxed, but only slightly, and raised an eyebrow. “Commander. I apologize. You startled me.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Malcolm gave a small grunt, folding his arms across his chest. “And is there a reason you chose to stop me in the hallway? Aside from standing there staring at me as if I grew a second head, of course.”

Trip tore his eyes away briefly. “Ah, yeah. I just wanted ta talk ta you.” He looked back up. “I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to yesterday, I was… busy.” Busy thinking about what to say, he added in his mind. He’d finally managed to come up with something earlier that morning. “Wanna walk to the mess hall with me? I need ta grab breakfast.”

“Commander, now really isn’t a good time,” Malcolm sighed. “I had some business to attend to with the captain and I’m already late as it is.”

Trip glanced at his watch and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, late by a whole three minutes, ya are. You sure you can’t spare five or ten minutes? It won’t take long, I promise. The armoury ain’t gonna blow up just ‘cause yer not there.”

“Sir, just because you don’t take routine seriously on this ship does not mean I think the same. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Malcolm tried to push past him but Trip, anger beginning to boil, grabbed his arm. He dug his nails in without thinking and only half-registered Malcolm’s wince of pain.

“What the hell is that s’posed ta mean?”

The Lieutenant turned swiftly, irritation in his grey eyes. “It means, _sir,_ that I have a job to do. A job that I take very seriously. A total of eighty-three lives depend on me to do that job – yours included. You’d be wise to let me go.”

“Yer job-” Trip cut himself off, teeth grinding. _Calm down,_ begged a voice in the back of his mind. _This isn’t what you came here to do, damn it._ But Trip couldn’t stop the cascade of angry words flooding from his mouth. “I know you don’t ‘preciate my _treacly optimism,_ or the captain’s leniency; hell, anything that doesn’t revolve ‘round guns or safety protocols! But that don’t mean we take our jobs lightly. Believe it or not, I’m _also_ in charge of the crew’s safety. Eighty-three lives, _yours included,_ depend on me keepin’ the damn engine from blowin’ up! I gotta watch five different things at once, make sure the men an’ women under my command don’t burn ‘emselves on a live wire that I just happened ta miss.

“You dare try ta dictate how I do my job – tell me how unprofessional I am – when yer barely qualified to do yer own. What happens the next time we run into a water planet, huh, Malcolm? You gonna freeze up again? All ‘cause you can’t handle it? Who woulda thought Mister Fearless’d be ‘fraid of the water!”

Trip stood there for a moment, red in the face and panting heavily. Then, little by little, the shock of what he’d just said and done began to sink in.

They’d attracted a crowd at some point. A handful of ensigns and crewmen; Lieutenant Hess.

And Travis. Staring at Trip. Anger obvious in his expression.

Trip turned back to Malcolm and found he’d gone completely white. His grey eyes were downcast – Trip found no anger in them, no sadness. Just a haunted, empty look. And when he spoke, his tone matched that expression.

“Please let go of my arm, sir.”

Though he’d whispered it, he may as well have been shouting, for the corridor was deathly silent. Trip released his grip instantly and took a step back. “Aw, shit. Malcolm, I’m so s-”

He hadn’t even gotten the first syllable out when Malcolm tore through the crowd and bolted down the hallway.

Trip felt numb. _You’ve done fucked up,_ taunted a voice in his head. Trip wanted to cry. God, he felt so close to crying. He’d pulled Malcolm aside to apologize and what the hell did he do? Scream at him. Reveal his deepest fear in front of no less than fourteen other crewmembers. Why should Malcolm ever want to speak to him again?

“Alright, everyone, back to your stations!” yelled a voice not normally accompanied with such a commanding tone. Immediately the crowd dispersed, some mumbling under their breath, others seemingly afraid to speak. They all shot Trip dirty looks as they walked by. Trip barely noticed them; his gaze fixated on the point where Malcolm had disappeared.

Then suddenly that view was obscured by a very pissed-off looking Travis Mayweather.

Trip spoke before the helmsman got the chance: “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Big time,” Travis agreed.

“Shit.” Trip sagged limply against the wall, running a hand through his hair. It was shaking. When had that started? “I even… I fully intended to talk ta him. Civilly, y’know? Just sort things out. An’ then I go off ‘bout how ‘unqualified’ he is. I’ve never met anyone _more_ qualified, damnit!” He drew in an unsteady breath and closed his eyes. “Go, um - go find him, Travis. Make sure he doesn’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Travis hesitated, then he nodded. “I want you to know, Commander,” he muttered as he walked past, “that I’m on his side. However, I highly recommend you talk to him at some point as well.”

“Why?” Trip snapped, though there was no malice in his tone. Just weariness. “Yer his friend.”

“And you’re his best friend.”

“I don’t think I’m worth that title at the moment.”

The helmsman contemplated this. “No, perhaps not. But I still think you should talk to him. When things start to simmer down.” Then he left to follow Malcolm, leaving Trip alone in the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone nitpicks - I know aquaphobia is the fear of drowning, not water. (Heck, I'm sorta aquaphobic myself and what do I do as a part-time job? I teach swimming). It's Trip who doesn't know this difference yet. But he learns soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On some level, I am annoyed at myself. VERY annoyed at myself. This was meant to be a single chapter fic about Malcolm acting a bit cowardly with a little sprinkle of angst in between.
> 
> And then I went ahead and did this. 
> 
> So, uh. Enjoy.

Malcolm ran to the one place he knew he’d be safe from prying eyes: his quarters. Hot, angry tears threatened to escape his eyes, but he forced them away. Damn if he was going to start crying in the middle of the hallway.

He practically slammed his hand against the keypad and darted inside, not even waiting for the door to open all the way. His shoulder bumped against the doorframe. He barely felt it.

“ _You dare dictate how I do my job? Yer barely qualified to do yer own!”_

The echo of Trip’s voice was accompanied by the voice in his own head, crushing him under their accusations. Malcolm sagged against his now closed door and slowly slid to the ground. His eyes were screwed shut against the ever-persistent tears, his breathing fast and shallow.

_Aw, you’re not gonna cry, are you, Reedy? Just what would Father say if he saw you like this? Should have taken his advice, refused to fraternize. But no. You always had to go against whatever he said._

_Shut up,_ Malcolm shot back. _I’m a grown man. I can do what I want._

_And look where that got you. Sitting here on the floor, a pathetic mess, all because someone yelled at you._

“Malcolm,” a muffled voice called from the other side of the door, interrupting the stream of deprecating thoughts. “It’s Travis.”

Malcolm let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He’d been scared that Commander Tucker had decided to pursue him, and Malcolm couldn’t trust himself to be civil with the man. He couldn’t trust himself to be civil with anyone, if he were being honest, but Travis was at least better than Tucker. Or the Captain.

“Open this door, Malcolm, or I’ll go get someone who can.”

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm hauled himself to his feet and reached for the door controls.

Travis stared at him for a moment, which was when Malcolm realized that his attempts to keep the tears at bay were in vain – there was a slight wetness on his cheeks. Luckily, Travis didn’t comment on this. “Mind if I come in?” he asked gently.

Malcolm gave a short nod and stepped aside. He felt suddenly subconscious of his bare quarters, the old books and a single photograph of Madeline being his only personal possessions. “How can I help you, Ensign?” Malcolm asked, turning his attention to his friend.

“Drop the titles,” Travis said immediately. “I’m here as a friend. I was concerned about you.”

Oh. That was a new one. “I’m… honoured,” Malcolm blurted stupidly. “But you needn’t worry about me. I just need a few minutes and I’ll be back on duty.”

Travis sighed in exasperation, as if he were dealing with a small, defiant child. “You really do have a stubborn streak, don’t you? Malcolm, that was some altercation you and the Commander had. It’s no secret that you’re a private man and I respect that. What Commander Tucker did – what he said – was out of line.”

“How much did you hear?” Malcolm asked.

“I came around the corner the moment he grabbed your arm.” Travis seemed almost embarrassed to admit it. “I should have intervened. I’m sorry.”

Malcolm dismissively waved a hand. “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fight. Besides, the Commander had a point.”

“What – that you’re not qualified to do your job?” The helmsman took a step closer. “That’s bullshit! Everyone knows you take yourself seriously, sometimes to a fault. There isn’t a single person on board who believes you’re incapable.”

“The Commander seems to.”

“Believe it or not, that’s wrong.”

Malcolm’s head flew up and his eyes narrowed. “You just said you heard most of the argument. Surely, you heard his accusation.”

Travis nodded. “But I also heard what he said after. I know it probably doesn’t hold much weight and I’m not saying you should just forgive him – hell, I wouldn’t – but he did tell me that he’s never met a single person more qualified than you.” When Malcolm didn’t say anything, he continued. “He also sent me after you, to make sure you didn’t, um, do anything. I would have gone regardless, don’t get me wrong.”

 _Liar,_ screamed Malcolm’s mind. _Liars; they’re all liars._ Malcolm pushed it aside and, choosing his words carefully, said, “you’re correct in that his opinion doesn’t hold much weight to me. Not right now.” Would it ever, he wondered? “But I’m just as much at fault as he is. I know he has a short temper and yet I baited him into an argument.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Travis muttered, but his tone betrayed his words.

“I’m just as much at fault,” repeated Malcolm. “This is all a result of my own foolish actions. Anything he said, I could have taken, but when he blurted out my aquaphobia in front of all those people…” with a sigh, Malcolm flopped onto his bed, head in his hands. “That’s one secret I hoped no one would find out about.” _Except the Captain,_ he added in his mind, for he knew that if he said it out loud Travis would ask questions and Malcolm didn’t feel like recounting that particular event at the moment.

A weight shift against the mattress indicated that Travis had sat down beside him.

“It’s unbecoming and unprofessional,” Malcolm continued quietly, “but I find myself despising him. For as long as I remember I’ve been shamed and shunned because of my aquaphobia. My parents tried to be supportive, they really did, but I could just tell my father was disappointed when he learned his son wouldn’t follow the navy tradition…” Suddenly it was like a dam had broken and all the words, all the hurt, came flooding out. _What am I doing?_ Malcolm thought. _Stop it. Stop it, now._ But the words kept coming.

“It’s not that I have a problem with water. I loved beaches, so long as the water only came to my waist. I liked the feeling of it on my skin. But when it came to boats and being out in the middle of the sea, so far from land… it makes me uneasy. Suddenly I can’t think of anything except all the different ways a boat can be sunk, and if the waves were just a little rougher than usual, I was certain we would go down.”

He kept talking. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t stop. With each word that came out it was like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders, little by little. A full half hour had gone by the time he was finished. Malcolm was exhausted; his limbs were shaking, his throat was dry, and there was a tear running down his cheek, yet despite all that he felt lighter. Much lighter.

 _What would father say if he saw you like this?_ taunted the voice in his mind again.

Malcolm found he didn’t care.

* * *

Trip couldn’t even _try_ to act content as he had dinner with the Captain. Awkward silence reigned all throughout, broken only by Archer’s attempts at small talk. Trip’s responses were monosyllabic at best; weak grunts at the worst, and he hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of his steak. He hadn’t eaten in days, not since the altercation with Malcolm. He couldn’t stomach anything. His insides were still twisting with guilt and fear and anger.

Finally, Archer had had enough. Setting his cutlery down on the plate, he leaned across the table and said, “out with it, Trip. What’s bothering you?”

“Hm?” Trip raised his head. He’d been zoning out. “Oh. Nothin’s wrong, Cap’n.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

Trip hesitated. Then he sighed and stood up. “I really don’t want to talk ‘bout it, Jon. Not right now. Not ever, come ta think of it. It’s somethin’ I gotta fix by myself.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Archer strode across the room, grabbing Trip’s wrist before he could leave. “Something’s eating away at you. Which is ironic since _you_ obviously haven’t been eating. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he scolded as Trip opened his mouth to deny this. “You’ve been quiet and withdrawn for days now. You only act this way when you’ve messed up something bad, like what happened with that girl on the trip to New York we took. Talk to me, Trip. I’m your friend.”

On one hand, Trip was rather surprised that Archer seemed to know nothing about the altercation. The Captain seemed to know everything that went on in his ship, right down to who was dating who. Then again, Travis had probably scared the witnesses into silence, and Malcolm had years of experience in hiding his emotions. Trip was the weak link.

_Weak._

“I got into a fight,” Trip blurted out. “With Malcolm. Uh, nothin’ physical.” An image of his nails digging into Malcolm’s arm danced tauntingly in front of his eyes. “I… said some things. Awful things. In the corridor. While in the presence of maybe fourteen or fifteen other crewmen.” He swallowed thickly. “I figured out his fear, why he acted like that on Kurik. An’ I yelled it out. I told him he wasn’t fit for his job. Jesus, Jon, why did I do that? Am I really that bad of a person?”

As Trip choked back tears, he felt Archer’s arms wrap securely around him, holding him. Trip attempted to squirm out of his grip. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve comfort.

But Archer held him tight. “You’re not a bad person, Trip,” he reassured the blond man. “Don’t think that for one second. You may have said something bad, but that doesn’t define who you are. Besides, if you were a bad person, I wouldn’t have let you step foot on this ship. Best engineer in Starfleet be damned.”

Trip gave a half-chuckle at this.

“I won’t pretend that what you said wasn’t callous, from what you’ve told me,” Archer went on. “We both know Malcolm doesn’t like to show weakness, especially in front of his officers. He takes his job seriously. You hurt him, Trip. But what are you going to do to remedy the situation? Have you talked to him?”

“No,” Trip admitted quietly. He pulled away and stared at his friend. “I want to. I know I should. But every time I get close, I chicken out. He looks at me an’ I see hatred in his eyes, or someone approaches him before I can, or my nerves just fail me. An’ what if he don’t forgive me, Jon? What do I do then?”

Archer donned a serious expression. “Then you move on. That’s just how life is. You make a mistake; you accept the consequences.”

Trip deflated. Deep down, he knew the Captain was right, but that didn’t make the truth hurt any less. There was still a chance Malcolm wouldn’t forgive him, and if that happened, Trip would never be able to forgive himself.

* * *

He was being stalked, no doubt about it.

Some might have called him paranoid if he’d said this out loud. Crazy, even. But Malcolm was the Chief of Security, and he damn knew when someone was stalking him. And his stalker was none other than Commander Charles Tucker.

It began simply with feelings of being watched. Malcolm would turn around in his seat and see the Commander staring at him from across the mess hall, and their eyes would meet for a brief second before Tucker’s flitted away. Then it grew into hesitant approaches, which were almost always thwarted by someone coming up to either Malcolm or Tucker asking for something. Sometimes it seemed that Tucker would back out on his own accord. If Malcolm didn’t know better, he’d think he looked anxious.

Travis had noticed this too. After the afternoon where Malcolm had practically spilled his guts, Travis quickly became a closer friend. The helmsman had a great sense of humour that nearly matched Malcolm’s own in the adult genre, and the two relayed their enthusiasms to each other like they’d been friends for years.

There was just one thing Travis couldn’t do, though. He couldn’t make Malcolm laugh the way he’d laughed with Tucker.

* * *

He was being avoided, no doubt about it.

Every attempt he made to get close to the Lieutenant resulted in failure. He’d tried everything short of ordering the man, and he wasn’t about to do that. Malcolm would only take further offense.

Trip was running out of ideas. A week and a half had passed since their little fight in the corridors and he was starting to wonder if things would ever return to normal when the perfect opportunity came, whether by coincidence or influence.

They were fast approaching an uninhabited Minshara-class planet which contained a type of root Phlox apparently needed for some concoction of his. Instead of sending down two science officers, Captain Archer had ordered Malcolm and Trip to get their gear on.

Definitely influenced. Still, Trip couldn’t care less. He finally had a chance to talk to Malcolm alone.

* * *

“Our landing vector is a little steep, Commander,” Malcolm read out in a flat tone. “Bring our nose up by a few degrees. I don’t particularly fancy scratching a shuttlepod today.”

“Righty-o,” the Commander replied cheerfully. A few seconds later Malcolm felt the shuttle angle upwards slightly and he let out a grunt of approval.

 _Why on Earth did the Captain want me here?_ he pondered. _We did three scans of the planet and there’s no life form larger than an insect. Come to think of it, why is_ Tucker _here? This is certainly not a job for an engineer. And I do not buy the excuse that ‘all the science staff were busy’._

There was only one possible reason, he rationalized. _The Captain must have heard about the… disagreement the Commander and I had._ The thought made him queasy. Just how long until Archer kicked him off the ship? Out of Starfleet as a whole, even? Malcolm highly doubted the Commander would be booted off – he was an adept engineer, and moreover, the Captain’s best friend. Malcolm was, and always had been, disposable.

Malcolm didn’t have time to ponder this further, however, for they’d landed on the white grass of the planet.

* * *

The root was collected, and they were back on board the shuttle in under ten minutes, their only incident being a small insect bite to Malcolm’s neck. The root wasn’t all that hard to find; it had a very identifiable star-shaped leaf that bore a bright red colour. Phlox had called it something – Trip couldn’t exactly remember, the name was too long – in Denobulan, the rough translation to English being “bloodstar root”. Very literal. Very to the point.

However, this meant that Trip didn’t really get the chance to talk to Malcolm. Not on the planet, that is. They were about a quarter of the way back to _Enterprise_ when Trip screwed up enough courage to ask, “how’ve you been, Malcolm?”

Malcolm shrugged from the navigation seat. One hand was resting on his neck, where the bite was located, the other hand was on the panel.

“I see you’ve been spendin’ a lotta time with Travis,” Trip continued, not having much idea where he was going with this. “Bet he has a ton o’ good boomer stories.”

“Mm,” said Malcolm.

“Have the torpedoes been behavin’ themselves? I know we ran into some weird gravitational phenomenon the other day.”

“Mm.”

Undeterred from Malcolm’s apathetic noises of acknowledgement, Trip kept rambling about anything he could think about – the food Chef made, T’Pol making a small error in a calculation. They were almost at _Enterprise_ when Malcolm finally spoke up.

“If it’s all the same to you, Commander, I’d rather not talk right now.” _To you_ was the unspoken addition.

Trip’s smile wavered. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Malcolm. Jus’ tryna make some friendly conversation.”

Malcolm echoed “friendly” with a sneer but didn’t elaborate, not that Trip particularly wanted him to. He was starting to feel the anger simmering again. Couldn’t Malcolm just give him one chance? One break? He was trying to apologize, damnit.

At least, he was trying to find the courage to apologize. It had always been a difficult concept for him, apologies; something he struggled to grasp as a kid. That wasn’t to say he never apologized. He did. He just preferred to be more hands-on in his apologies as opposed to verbal. This often led to miscommunication.

Once the shuttlepod was docked the two men were ushered into decon, though fortunately spared from the gel. Trip and Malcolm sat on opposite benches, each refusing to even glance at one another. The tension could be cut with a knife.

Finally, hallway light broke through the soft blue glow, concealed only by Doctor Phlox’s head. The normal grin danced upon the Denobulan’s lips, but Trip thought he saw another emotion flash in his eyes. Fear? Uncertainty? It was gone before he could place it.

“A clean bill of health, Commander Tucker. You’re free to go.”

Trip grinned for a moment, and then the realization sank in. “What about Malcolm?”

“I can look after myself,” was the Lieutenant’s grumbled reply.

Phlox’s smile sank very slightly. “Unfortunately, I’ve picked up a toxin of some sorts circling in the Lieutenant’s bloodstream. It doesn't seem to be very serious, at least not yet, but I would like to keep him for a little while longer. While I have you both together, did anything happen down on the planet? You didn’t touch the root itself, did you?”

“No, doc,” Trip reassured him. “We followed all yer protocols.” He paused. “Although, I think Malcolm got bitten by an insect or somethin’.”

“I said I can look after myself, Commander,” Malcolm growled. Trip was surprised at the amount of venom in his voice.

Phlox nodded thoughtfully. “I see. That could very well be the cause. I know very little at the moment, but I am working as fast as I can. If you experience any discomforts, Lieutenant, be sure to let me know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hold on, doc. Won’t I catch whatever he caught?” Trip inquired.

“No, Commander. I believe the only way to become infected would be the insect itself. Besides, it seems that a negligence on his part had a hand in things. I haven’t seen you for your allergy medications in a month, Mr. Reed.”

As Trip looked down at Malcolm, he finally got an answer to the age-old question the crew had been asking themselves – did blush turn purple in decon? Yes. Yes, it did.

* * *

An hour. Only an hour in, and Malcolm was already starting to feel quite off. Phlox had been by exactly once to inform him that he was almost finished identifying the toxin, and that the Lieutenant was running a fever.

Malcolm hadn’t felt it at first. But, bloody hell, did he feel it now.

He raised one sore arm up to wipe the sweat from his brow, ignoring the shiver that ran through his body when the limb became exposed. He lay flat on his back atop one of the benches, a dark blue blanket draped over his body, a plaster on the side of his neck. He’d scratched it so bad it had begun to bleed.

It still itched. His whole body seemed to be tingling with a faint pins-and-needles type sensation. There were itches he couldn’t reach, too. In his throat, in his ears.

Nausea hit. Acting quickly, Malcolm rolled himself onto his side and dry heaved over the gleaming silver bowl Phlox had given him. Nothing came up. His stomach was empty. Malcolm rolled onto his back again, barely noticing the small spasm of pain that shot up his spine.

* * *

Trip almost smacked straight into sickbay doors; he was running so fast. Maybe five minutes ago, Doctor Phlox had called him and the Captain to inform them that he’d made a discovery. Phlox’s tone was uncharacteristically solemn and warning bells had gone off in Trip’s head immediately.

Captain Archer was already there. Trip barely looked at him, barreling straight for the doctor instead. He didn’t even have to ask what was wrong – Phlox got straight to the point.

“The Lieutenant’s bloodstream has been contaminated with a toxin I have been unable to identify at this time. Its properties are somewhat akin to a virus I encountered several years ago, named the Tiloran Virus.” The doctor paused for just a second too long. “The cure is still under experimentation. Now, as this is not the virus itself, it is possible that I can devise my own cure using successful methods from the Tiloran Virus cure, however, there is no guarantee.”

Trip felt numb. His heart had stopped beating; his brain had stopped functioning. His legs shook underneath him, and he worried he would collapse. “Is Malcolm gonna die?” Trip blurted.

A look best described as pained relief crossed the Doctor’s face. “The Tiloran Virus is painful but not deadly. From what I can tell, the same can be said for this toxin, but there are many added… effects.”

“Like?” Captain Archer pressed.

Phlox sighed. “My scans yielded very little information, Captain. I can only tell you that Mr. Reed is likely to experience what you call “pins and needles” in his arms and legs, along with some hypersensitivity in certain areas of the skin. Furthermore, I’ve already begun to register signs of hypoxemia in the Lieutenant’s body, and he developed a fever around three and a half hours ago.”

“But he won’t die?” Trip repeated, desperation creeping into his tone.

Phlox's hesitation was slight but noticeable. "I'd say not, Commander, but please remember that anything is possible."

Even Trip's optimism couldn't fight that uncertainty.

“Can we see him?” Captain Archer asked quietly.

Phlox moved over to his computer and peered at it, before shaking his head. “He is sleeping at the moment. I know the Lieutenant reveres his privacy. When he wakes, I’ll be sure to comm you.”

“And me,” Trip jumped in.

Phlox offered him a gentle smile. “And you.”

* * *

His neck was itchy.

 _Don’t scratch,_ a voice ordered in his mind. _You’ll only make it worse._

 _But I’m itchy_ , he shot back.

_You aren’t five anymore, Reed. Suck it up._

Malcolm ignored the voice. With straining effort, he brought his arm up to his neck and scraped a fingernail across the skin.

Pain seared through his body, trapping him in its grasp before he could do so much as call for help. It was burning him mercilessly from the inside out, traveling down his spine to his toes, to his fingers, his throat. Tears stung his eyes. He let them fall, wondering if perhaps they would put out the fire that had erupted in his body.

Then, as soon as it had started, it was over.

Malcolm still lay on his back underneath the blanket, trembling. Someone was breathing. No, panting. It must be himself, he realized. There was no one else here.

He groaned through gritted teeth and willed himself back to sleep, but the blanket was suddenly too scratchy, and the bench was suddenly too hard, and even his own body hair had begun to irritate him. He had to get out of here.

Getting to his feet took significantly more effort than merely lifting an arm. By the time he could feel the cool metal floor on his soles his body was exhausted. He couldn’t even take a step forward; fearful he would topple over.

“ _Lieutenant?”_

He flinched at the voice. It was too loud.

_“Lieutenant, I am going to pass a hypospray to you. It should alleviate some of your symptoms.”_

An antidote. Or, at least, something to help. Good. He should go and get it.

He could not move.

_“Lieutenant, can you hear me?”_

He wanted to nod. He tried to nod. He did nod.

It was a mistake.

The room began to spin. He could hear Phlox’s voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. Were they frightened? Reassuring? Hell, if he knew. Malcolm groped blindly, trying to find something to hold onto, and suddenly he found himself lying on his side on the ground.

Phlox’s voice was still talking – no, yelling, now. Yet it sounded so much quieter. Distant. Blackness threatened to take hold of him. He had no strength to fight it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao I'm so sorry Malcolm.
> 
> Also - a lot of Trip's internal thoughts or monologues is actually based on personal experience. Two or three years ago I lost my best friend because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I said some awful things. They hurt her too much for me to take back, or for her to forgive me. I've learned from that experience, though. At least, I like to think I have. I hope I have. 
> 
> I was in a similar situation of Trip's except instead of a starship it was high school. I had to run into her in the halls, and though we didn't have any classes together, I had classes with her best friends. It was bloody miserable. I thought I must be a bad person, to do something like this. This wasn't the first time either. I thought, I must just be a monster. No one is this awful towards people they call their friends.
> 
> Took a while for me to realize that, no, I'm not a bad person. I am caring, I hate it when the people I love are sad. I like cats and kittens and I enjoy taking pictures of little things I find interesting. I have friends who laugh at my jokes and jump to my aid when I feel unsure about myself. I said some bad things, yes, but I'm not a bad person.
> 
> There was a big increase in my mental state after all that. Coincidence or connected? I'll never know, I suppose.
> 
> So, anyway, yeah. Thanks for reading my rant lmao. And I hope to get the next chapter of this fic up soon. Malcolm lives don't worry!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for this one.  
> ...  
> Okay fine you can hate me a little.
> 
> Also short chapter warning. What can I say? I like cliffhangers >:)

If Trip had gotten his way, he would have planted himself firmly in sickbay and refused to leave, especially once he heard of the incident. As it was, however, one obeyed Phlox’s rules when in sickbay, and Phlox had ushered him out a couple hours ago. To make sure he didn’t sneak back in, Captain Archer had tasked him with making sure the armoury was in working order with its Chief’s absence.

Ensign Meng’s face had flashed with offence when Trip informed her of this. He didn’t blame her. One’s competence being questioned, however indirectly, by none other than the Captain was a hard blow. Despite this, the armoury SIC had collected herself and invited Trip to inspect the canons Malcolm was working on earlier. Trip pretended not to hear the strain in her voice.

Lunch came and went. No matter how hard he worked, Trip couldn’t persuade his mind to move elsewhere, off of Malcolm. There had been an attempt to move him to main sickbay so Phlox could keep a better eye on him, but no sooner had Malcolm taken one step when he’d panicked. That was the moment Trip had been shooed away. He remained just long enough to hear Malcolm’s anguished cries; seen his thin, pale body shivering and drenched in sweat.

Trip screwed his eyes shut, forcing breakfast to stay down. _Malcolm’ll get through this,_ he told himself. _He’ll get through this. You’ll get the chance to apologize._

It didn’t matter how many times these thoughts ran through his head. They were always interrupted by a more cynical, cruel voice taunting, _and what if he doesn’t?_

* * *

Someone was speaking to him. Their voice was familiar, the cadence soft and warm. It rolled over him like a blanket and for a minute or two the shivering abated.

Consciousness slowly crept back to him. He could put a name to the voice: Mayweather. Travis Mayweather. Helmsman of the _Enterprise_.

Friend.

Malcolm forced his eyes opened. The blue light was softer now. Dimmer. Phlox must have turned them down.

Then he became aware of the numbness throughout his body and realized it was _he_ who had been dimmed. He felt oddly weightless. Had the gravity been turned off? No, he surmised. If it had, he’d be floating around the room. Malcolm chuckled at the image.

Travis stopped talking abruptly. A few moments passed, then he said, “Malcolm? You awake?”

Malcolm grunted in reply. What were words again? His meaning seemed to get across, though. Travis sighed in relief.

“Took you long enough, man. You’ve been out… close to nine hours, I think. Well, in and out, according to the doc.”

A part of Malcolm said he should be alarmed at this. He decided he was far too tired to be alarmed.

“Phlox said he’s found very little about what you’re infected with. And even if he did, I’m not a doctor. I wouldn’t be able to understand a word, no matter how much Cutler can dumb it down.” Travis dissolved into chuckles which Malcolm tried to mimic. It hurt his throat and sent spikes of pain shooting up his skull, so he stopped.

“Aw, shoot,” Travis exclaimed suddenly. “I forgot I promised Hoshi I’d meet her for dinner. Ah… you hungry, Malcolm? Phlox said I can bring you something if you want.”

Food. Did he want food? Malcolm pondered this for a minute, face twisted into something of a frown. He hadn’t eaten in a while, not since breakfast. Was he hungry?

Eventually, he shook his head.

“That’s alright.” Malcolm couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smile on the helmsman’s lips. “Just be sure to at least drink some water, Malcolm. Okay? There’s a bottle by your bed should you need it. I’ll come by later.” And then he was gone, leaving Malcolm in blissful – yet lonely – silence.

* * *

Trip didn’t even need to voice the reason for his appearance in sickbay. Once Doctor Phlox caught sight of him, he sighed and informed him, “the Lieutenant is still in the decon chamber.”

“No luck movin’ him, then?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’ve managed to get his fever down a bit, but the hypersensitivity is getting worse, as is the hypoxemia. If the rate of oxygen decay in his blood gets any faster, I’ll have to put him on oxygen.” Phlox finished whatever he’d been working on at the computer and moved for a nearby stack of PADDs. “He has drunk very little since being here and ate even less. I need to put him on an IV drip soon just to keep his nutrients balanced, which won’t be a pleasant thing, especially with hypersensitivity.”

The grim picture Phlox painted caused the knot in Trip’s stomach to tighten. If Malcolm reacted with protests and weak punches to bright lights, how the hell would take a needle in his arm? “Um… what about a cure, doc? Any luck there?”

Phlox shrugged. “With the similar properties to the Tiloran Virus, I’ve managed to make some headway, but nothing definitive yet.”

“Oh.” The empty syllable hung heavy in the air. Trip wasn’t a doctor, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. The human body could only go so long without food or fluids. If Phlox couldn’t find something soon, the virus would kill Malcolm indirectly. _Unless he’s knocked right out,_ his mind supplied. Trip grimaced at the thought. Malcolm would hate that.

“Um,” he finally spoke up again, “can I see him?”

Phlox nodded wordlessly, gesturing in the direction of the decon window.

The first thing Trip noticed was that the blue lights had been dimmed significantly. The second thing he noticed was that Malcolm wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Trip frowned, about to mention this to Phlox, when a pile of blankets on the opposite bench suddenly coughed and twitched. Seconds later a head poked out, brown hair slicked with sweat.

Trip watched as Malcolm blinked slowly, owlishly, then rolled onto his back with a strained grunt. One hand reached up to scratch at his neck – which Trip realized in horror was dark crimson with dried blood – while the other fidgeted around the blanket. Malcolm seemed unsure about something. Confusion flashed clearly in grey-blue eyes.

Trip reached for the com button. “Malcolm.”

Almost lazily, Malcolm turned his head to face the decon window and Trip. His eyes widened, then narrowed, before he sputtered, “Commander.”

Well. At least he was lucid. “Hey, Malcolm.”

“What’re you doin’ here?”

Trip blinked and wished he could say he was surprised. “What does it look like? I’m visitin’ my sick friend, of course.”

Malcolm barked out a laugh. Immediately, pain flashed across his face, and the hand at the blanket moved to his throat. He wheezed once, twice. Trip felt his heart skip a beat. “Hey, Mal, what’s wrong?”

“Friend,” Malcolm breathed, shaking his head. “You’re not… my friend.” Then he turned and mashed his face into the blankets. “And don’t… not ‘Mal’.”

Tears pricked at Trip’s eyes. “Malcolm, c’mon. I know I said some shitty things. You have every right ta hate me fer them.”

“Fuck off,” Malcolm muttered, but Trip kept going.

“’specially fer… well, you know what I mean. For what it’s worth, Malcolm, I don’t think less o’ ya just ‘cause yer afraid of the water. I think… I think yer brave. You insisted on goin’ down to that planet with the Cap’n despite yer fear. That’s pretty admirable, don’t ya think?” He was rambling, he realized, not really apologizing. He cleared his throat. “What I’m tryna say is… I’m sorry. Fer everythin’.”

He waited for a response. When none came soon, he frowned. “Ma-”

“Shut.” Malcolm rolled onto his back again, his eyes screwed tightly shut. “Your voice… grating. Please, fuck up.” Had it been any other circumstance, Malcolm’s serious tone in his less than comprehensible words would have been funny. “Gotta sleep.”

Trip watched mutely as their stoic, uptight Tactical Officer rolled himself right off the bench and crashed to the floor, blanket twisted around his body. He fell asleep almost immediately.

“I have him on quite a strong dose of morphine.”

Trip jumped high enough to touch the roof. “Jesus, doc, ya gave me a heart attack. How long’ve you been standin’ there?”

A smile twitched on Phlox’s lips. “Oh, no longer than a minute. My monitor began to alert me of an increase in the Lieutenant’s respiration and I came by to ensure you weren’t… troubling him.”

“Ah, no.” Trip coughed. “At least, not intentionally. I was… tryna apologize ta him. Fer some things I said a while ago.”

“I see. Perhaps not the best time, hm?”

Trip’s face heated up. “Nah. But… I was worried. I mean, what if that was my _only_ time? Not to say yer not competent,” he hastened to add, “but these medical things can be fucky, right? A patient’ll be fine one minute and then – bam! – death by heart attack or internal bleedin’ or whatever.”

The Denobulan gave him an odd look and nodded. “I wouldn’t use your exact words, Commander, but I understand. Trust me when I say that I’m doing everything I can to save the Lieutenant’s life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should try and coax him back up to the more comfortable bench.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say they’re comfortable,” Trip tried to joke as he side-stepped. Phlox didn’t even acknowledge him.

* * *

When he next came around, the world was slightly clearer. And he hated it.

The rational side of him, of course, knew that too many drugs or high dosages posed risks. However, the side of him that kept saying things like _this blanket is too itchy_ and _the sound of my breathing is too loud_ insisted that just a little more morphine couldn’t hurt. He didn’t want to have a clear mind. He wanted a brain full of fog – he wanted to feel lightweight and floaty.

He wanted to forget what he’d said to Commander Tucker.

Truth be told, he didn’t remember much aside from his own voice saying something along the lines of _fuck off._

What a wonderful, becoming officer he was.

Malcolm closed his eyes to try and get back to sleep. Pins and needles crept up his fingers, his arms. The room seemed to sway around him. Was there less air in here than before? He was starting to feel quite lightheaded. Perhaps if he moved onto his back.

Nope, nope, that was definitely worse. Malcolm attempted to roll onto his side again but his limbs were just too weak and his vision was spinning. _Damn,_ he thought. _Damn bloody damn._ His breathing came in short, laboured gasps. The world, which had been relatively clear a few minutes ago, was suddenly grey and fuzzy around the edges. Before he knew it, his eyes were closing on their own.

* * *

Trip had a restless sleep. Every two hours or so he would wake up drenched in sweat, Malcolm’s name on the tip of his tongue as he watched the Lieutenant’s life force drain away. First it was dehydration, then they were back in Shuttlepod One suffocating to death, and then, probably the worst of all, Malcolm was drowning, while dream-Trip only stood back and laughed.

He awoke just after Malcolm had gone under.

Trip sighed heavily and, running a hand through his hair, glanced at the chronometer. It was 0600 hours exactly and he didn’t even have a shift today.

 _Figures,_ he thought as he hauled himself out of bed. _The one day I wake up early enough is the one time I don’t_ need _to be up early._

His feet took him to the mess hall despite the fact that he wasn’t hungry. He grabbed a cold glass of milk, choosing a seat near the back of the room. Two of the other three crewmen in there offered him words of greeting, while the third only frowned at him. The realization hit Trip as he sat down: she was one of Malcolm’s team.

Suddenly he felt rather ill, but he didn’t want to bolt out of the mess hall so soon after he’d got there. Trip forced his rapid breathing to slow, taking sips of milk in between. He didn’t look up. Not even when someone sat down across from him.

“Morning, Commander.” Travis’ tone was uncharacteristically flat. “Sleep well?”

“Nope,” replied Trip, just as unenthusiastic.

“Me neither.”

Trip sipped his milk; Travis picked at his pancakes. Neither man said anything. _What does he want?_ Trip wondered. _Does he hate me? He must for sure hate me. He’s Malcolm’s friend. Christ, stop with the self-pity already, Tucker!_

“So… heard from the doc?”

“He told me yesterday he’s makin’ some progress but not a lot. Malcolm ain’t eatin’, and what with this apparent hypersensitivity an IV’s gonna be pretty harsh.”

Travis nodded solemnly. “I, uh, ran into Ensign Hamaya coming off shift this morning. He said Malcolm had some sort of breathing problems last night. I don’t know much; he wouldn’t get into detail even when I fell to my knees and begged.” A half-hearted chuckle escaped the helmsman’s lips. “But, um. It’s getting worse. And it makes me think… what if we lose him, y’know?”

Trip glanced up, blinking in surprise at the sight of tears in Travis’ dark eyes. He’d never seen him cry before. “We won’t lose him,” Trip said firmly. “Malcolm’s too stubborn fer that.” _Besides,_ he added in his mind, _I’m not lettin’ him go until I can apologize properly._

* * *

He didn’t think it was possible, but Malcolm felt worse. _Like hell,_ is mind provided, complete with Commander Tucker’s accent and everything. At some point pain had flared up along his spine and Phlox had to increase the dosage of meds to dull it down. Now, Malcolm felt… detached. As if everything he experienced were happening to someone else. Someone he didn’t know. A stranger.

No, it wasn’t him stretched out across the bench in nothing but his blues, shivering madly because the blanket was too itchy. It wasn’t him wearing the nasal cannula because there wasn't enough oxygen in his blood. And it certainly wasn’t him making those gawd-awful whimpering sounds.

Malcolm shut his eyes and willed it all away.

* * *

The day passed painstakingly slow. With the engines in perfect condition and no repairs needed, Trip found himself either wandering the halls aimlessly or fluttering about on the bridge. He wouldn’t stay up there for long, though. The empty space at tactical only served to remind him about the uncertainty Malcolm faced.

Hoshi caught him at lunch and asked if he’d heard anything. Her usual source, Elizabeth Cutler, had been working with Phlox non-stop to find a cure. Regretfully, Trip let her down.

Captain Archer was officially released to duty full-time two weeks ahead of schedule – whether this was due to rapid recovery or the situation with Malcolm no one could be sure, least of all Trip. He couldn’t bring himself to care. The fight he’d had with Malcolm now seemed petty at best.

As for Malcolm himself, well… he was fading fast. The toxin’s rate of severity increased exponentially over the last day. When Trip went to check on him, he was muttering incoherently to things that weren’t there, tossing and turning and then groaning in pain, pulling at the nasal cannula so much that Phlox had to knock him out completely. It was so far from the Lieutenant Reed he knew. He couldn’t believe this pale, fragile man who whimpered in his sleep was the same Malcolm who once had a spike drive through his leg and barely batted an eye. The man who willingly let himself be held hostage on an irradiated planet with a bullet wound in his leg.

Trip couldn’t believe he called this man a coward.

At around 1900 hours the Captain received a comm from Phlox. Trip didn’t hear it, as it had come through Hoshi – but the panicked expression on her face was enough. He moved to follow the Captain.

“Remain here,” Archer virtually growled at him. To T’Pol he added, “you have the bridge.”

So, Trip remained.

For three minutes.

After all, it hadn’t been an order.

When he burst through the automatic doors, the first thing he laid eyes on was Malcolm stretched across a bio-bed, Phlox attaching monitoring systems to the man’s head and bare torso. He looked worse – much worse – than when Trip had last seen him. Dark circles under Malcolm’s eyes contrasted against his startlingly pale skin. His chest moved up and down in quick, shallow movements, and the skin around his neck and arms was cracked and bleeding in places.

Trip’s mouth went dry. Stumbling like a drunk, he forced himself forward, unable to make even a single noise. No one noticed him, not until he was about two feet from the bio-bed, which was when an arm wrapped around his waist and restrained him. “Trip, what the hell are you doing here?” Captain Archer hissed.

Trip struggled to escape the grip, but it was like his bones had turned to jelly, his energy sapped away. “Wha… What’s happenin’?” he managed to breathe. “’s he better? Is he gonna be okay?”

Archer and Phlox exchanged a glance. It was the Doctor who finally said, “Lieutenant Reed has fallen into a coma.”

Just like that, Trip’s world shattered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot's of Trip here. This chapter doesn't follow the back-and-forth pattern I did in the past, but it should still be pretty obvious who is who. 
> 
> I sorta rushed to get this done but I think it turned out okay. Please excuse any spelling, grammar, or continuity errors, this hasn't been read over more than once. 
> 
> I will warn, it's a bit of an abrupt ending. There was so many things to wrap up and I just couldn't do it all. I wanted to focus on Trip and Malcolm's friendship and what tore them apart and how they'd work to get back together, so I did. At the expense of like every other plot point lmao. I apologize.

He was floating again; except this time the feel was all wrong. Instead of being comforted by the blanket of blackness surrounding him, the emptiness seemed to reach right into his soul. He felt lonely in this void. He felt suffocated. Trapped.

He could sense the presence of people around him. Sometimes they talked, and he’d strain to pick up even a single word, but he never succeeded. It went by too fast. Time seemed to be flying by. He couldn’t figure out how he knew this.

Pain was still a part of his existence. He felt it travelling up his spine every so often at a pace so slow compared to how quickly time passed outside his little void. Unconsciously he’d groan or wince and, in an instant, there would be a hand on his arm and unintelligible words whispered in his ear. Sometimes it was followed by a distant prick at the side of his neck; other times the voice continued speaking to him until he fell out of touch with everything once again.

* * *

When Malcolm’s face finally relaxed, Trip dropped the false reassurance in his voice and sighed. Phlox had told him to at least try to sound optimistic when speaking to his friend. Coma or not, Malcolm could very likely still hear them, and guilty, hushed tones wouldn’t do him any good.

The doctor had worked without rest, utilizing the help of every science and medically trained Crewman, Ensign, and Lieutenant to find a cure for the toxin. Trip had never felt more useless in his life. The most he could do was sit around at Malcolm’s side as his friend’s condition only worsened. A treatment had been administered to raise oxygen levels in Malcolm’s blood but the rest of it – the hypersensitivity, the pain, and the fever that had returned with a damn vengeance – was still very much present.

Trip gave Malcolm’s arm a gentle pat and rose to his feet. Lunch break was nearly over, and he hadn’t eaten a single crumb, as was made plain by the noises in his stomach.

Crewman Cutler came over to take a blood sample from Malcolm. She smiled sadly to Trip as he left.

* * *

His feet took him to the Captain’s quarters. He slammed the door chime, not even waiting for a response before he barged right in.

Archer ogled him, the water polo game he’d been watching still running on the monitor. From beneath the desk, Porthos lifted his head in disinterest. Finally, Archer cleared his throat and asked, “something you need, Trip?”

“Were you angry with him?” Trip heard himself blurt.

The look of confusion grew. “Angry? With whom?”

“Malcolm,” Trip clarified. “On Kurik. After he abandoned us.” He physically cringed at the word _abandoned._

Comprehension crossed Archer’s face. He stood up and, pausing the water polo game, stepped closer to Trip. “No, I wasn’t,” the captain admitted. “Although, I didn’t exactly know what happened until he came to me with a critical report, but even considering that… no, I wasn’t angry with him.”

“You weren’t angry with him… because you already knew of his fear of the water.”

Wearily, Archer nodded.

“How? When did he tell you?” It came out more accusatory than he intended. “Hell, _why_ did he tell you?”

“Trip, please.” The Captain ran a hand over his face. “It wasn’t… he didn’t _mean_ to tell me. Do you remember the incident in the Romulan minefield? When Malcolm got that spike in his leg?” Trip nodded – who could forget that? “Well, he was pretty convinced he was going to die. He told me he was ready, and some bullshit story about heroics. God knows I wouldn’t let him go just like that. He was hopped up on painkillers, it just sort of slipped out. But, Trip, what is this about? I thought you let this all go days ago.”

Trip lowered his gaze and answered, “I don’t know, sir.” But he did know. All the while he’d been holding a grudge against Malcolm, scolding him in the middle of engineering, the very man he’d “almost gotten killed” was in full understanding of Malcolm’s actions.

Suddenly there were tears pooling in his eyes. “What have I done, Jon? What if he never wakes up, an’ one of the last things I did was get mad at him?”

“Oh, Trip.” Archer swept his friend into a hug. “It’ll be alright. Malcolm’s gonna pull through, just wait and see. Then he’ll beat your ass properly, and you’ll go back to being friends.”

Trip snorted, but it came out more like a weak sob.

* * *

They were back at the planet. Phlox had discovered something that could possibly cure Malcolm, but he apparently needed samples of the original insect to do it.

Trip hovered around the bridge like a phantom, waiting for the away team to report in. Constant contact wasn’t needed on such a peaceful planet, but Trip was anxious, nevertheless. Scans didn’t show everything. What if hibernation season was ending for some dangerous bear-like creature? Or worse, what if hibernation season was _beginning_ for the insects? What if they’d all died? What if Phlox never found a cure for Malcolm?

 _I’m spiralling,_ Trip realized. He forced himself to take a deep breath and focus on the positives. He was the optimist, after all.

The bridge communicator suddenly chimed to life and crewman Naiman’s voice filled the room. They were on their way back. With the samples. Trip’s sigh of relief was echoed by at least three other people.

* * *

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Trip turned away from the monitor, blinking a bit as his eyes adjusted to the surrounding darkness, and came face to face with one Travis Mayweather. “Well, since the doc all but kicked me outta sickbay, and I can’t sleep, I’ve found myself spendin’ a lotta time down here.”

“I understand,” the helmsman said. Gesturing to a nearby chair he asked, “can I sit?”

Trip grunted an affirmative.

Travis flopped down with a sigh but didn’t say anything. Trip did his best to pretend like the silence wasn’t awkward down here in the practically deserted engine room and turned his attention back to the monitor. Much to his dismay, nothing needed his expertise.

Finally, Travis spoke up again. “I just came from sickbay.”

“Oh, yeah?” Though his eyes didn’t leave the screen in front of him, Trip’s heart leapt.

“Yeah. Doctor Phlox said he’s close to perfecting an antidote for whatever’s affecting Malcolm.” Travis ran a hand along his short-cropped hair. “Later tonight; early tomorrow. He’s, um. He’s going to be okay, Commander.” Awkwardly, the helmsman reached forward and patted Trip’s arm. Expression twisting from minor discomfort to pure horror, Travis quickly withdrew his arm and stood up so fast he knocked the chair over.

And Trip did something he hadn’t done in weeks. He laughed.

* * *

Just as Travis had relayed, Malcolm started to show signs of improvement the next day. First, colour returned to his face, and he was no longer the exact same shade of the sheets. He was noticeably more relaxed as he slept. Without the blasted alien toxin eating up the nutrients being pumped into his body Malcolm started to regain weight again. By the third day his breathing evened out, and by the fourth he didn’t look nearly as close to death as he was before. Only one problem remained.

“When’ll he wake up?” Trip asked.

Across the room, Doctor Phlox seemed to falter for a moment. He quickly collected himself, however, and turned to face the Commander with a strained smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t know,” he answered.

Trip’s eyes flicked down to Malcolm’s face and then back up at Phlox. “But he’s gettin’ better.”

“He is, yes.”

“But you don’t know when he’ll wake up?” Trip’s tone was sharp. Phlox sighed.

“Comas are very tricky things, Mr. Tucker. Among all species.” The Doctor picked up a PADD and began tapping at it, almost randomly, as if he just needed something to do with his hands. “In this case, Lieutenant Reed’s coma was caused by severe cerebral hypoxia – a lack of blood to the brain. Now that his blood oxygen level has been restored, he should be waking up.”

“So, why isn’t he?”

Phlox offered a small smile. “As I said, comas are tricky things. Especially when it comes to oxygen deprivation in the brain.” Really not the sort of thing that should be said with a smile, Trip thought. “In the past, full recovery from cerebral hypoxia was quite rare. Nowadays, with the wonders of modern medicine, there is a very good chance the Lieutenant will survive without any lasting issues.”

Instantly, alarm bells tolled in Trip’s head. He’d lunged out of his seat before he knew it, his mind whirring; thoughts travelling at warp five. “What do you mean,” he whispered once he regained control, “ _lasting issues?”_

Clearly realizing he’d said the wrong thing, Phlox’s smile disappeared. “I apologize, I seem to have upset you. That was not my intention.”

“Yer sayin’ he might have brain trauma?” Trip continued, not listening. “I know basic biology, doc. I know what happens to someone if they don’t get enough oxygen in their brain.”

“Commander, I suggest you calm down and let me-”

“What’re his chances? How likely is it he’ll survive and still remember who he is?”

Phlox gave a heavy sigh and replied, “between eighty and eighty-five percent.”

Oh. Higher than he thought, then. Trip felt his anger begin to deflate. Sensing this, Phlox took a step forward and laid a hand on his shoulder, startling Trip. Casual touch was not the doctor’s favourite thing.

“I do not lie. Lieutenant Reed has a very good chance of recovering fully, and I’m sorry if you inferred differently. It is, however, my responsibility as a doctor to be ready for every possible outcome, and to ensure the friends of my patient are prepared as well.”

Mutely, Trip nodded.

“Positive attitude, Mr. Tucker.” Phlox removed his hand almost eagerly. “Lieutenant Reed is almost certainly aware of everything going on around him. If he senses your optimism, it is likely to have an impacting effect.”

* * *

The Doctor was half right. Indeed, Malcolm was somewhat aware of things around him, but he had trouble understanding most of these. For instance, the voice that spoke softly above him right now, the accent vaguely familiar… he felt irritated at that voice. He couldn’t understand why. It was associated with friendly memories – ones he couldn’t quite reach but knew were there. How could he be irritated at that voice?

Sometimes he felt things. Things akin to a hand on his arm; a tongue licking his fingers. Now, what the bloody hell? Why would-?

A dog. A dog would do that. Did they have a dog? Malcolm tried to conjure up the image of this phantom dog but found he couldn’t.

He was trapped. He wanted out. No longer was the void a warm, peaceful escape, but a place of cold solitary. He wanted to _understand_ the things that were spoken to him, the things he sensed around him – not just hear them. Feel them. He needed meaning. Life needed meaning, or else it was no life at all.

Someone once said that to him. Someone close. Family? No. A friend.

 _Friend._ The word sent shivers up his spine. A cold voice from somewhere unreachable whispered that he didn’t have friends; didn’t deserve them. Malcolm whimpered. No matter where he went, he couldn’t escape the voice.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. He could feel it more clearly this time. The heat seeping onto his skin, the weight as it rested there. It was his anchor. Malcolm tugged, and the anchor held.

He didn’t have to be trapped anymore.

The cold voice tried to follow him, but its place was in the void and it couldn’t escape. Soon another voice began to replace it; this voice spouting encouraging words emphasized by a warm Southern accent. With one last flicker of life, the void screamed that this voice wasn’t his friend.

Then Malcolm’s world was flooded by brightness.

* * *

Trip jogged down the corridor, forcing himself to keep pace so as not to show up at Malcolm’s door a flushed face and out of breath. After a grand total of three days in sickbay Malcolm had been released – much to both Lieutenant and Doctor’s relief – with explicit orders not to do anything except rest and regain his strength. Nothing out of the ordinary had been detected in his brainwaves. The Lieutenant would indeed make a full recovery.

Another two days had gone by since then. Trip hadn’t seen much of Malcolm aside from the friendly nod when they passed by each other in the hall or caught each other’s eyes in the mess. But now, finally, Trip was off duty, and he was on his way to make things right with his best friend.

Hopefully.

Malcolm opened the door just before Trip reached to chime a second time, pajamas draped over his thin form and brown hair standing up at all angles. Weirdly, though, despite the darkness in his quarters, Malcolm’s eyes were wide and alert. “Commander.”

“Hi, Malcolm.” Trip suddenly felt rather embarrassed, as if seeing Malcolm out of uniform was some sort of crime. “I won’t take long. I, uh, just need to talk to you.”

Without a word, Malcolm stepped aside to allow Trip access. The lights flickered on.

“Were you sleeping?” Trip tried for light-hearted small talk.

“Trying,” Malcolm sighed. “I keep… barely two hours in and I jerk myself awake coughing or gasping as if I’m running out of-” he cut himself off with a harsh inhale. “Anyway. What brings you here?”

For a minute, Trip’s brain stopped functioning. Malcolm was having nightmares? That must be why the dark circles under his eyes were still prominent – they were from recent exhaustion.

“Commander?”

“Hm? Oh.” Trip dragged himself back to the present. “Sorry. Yeah, uh, I just wanted ta… you remember when… I guess…” Damn, he had this all scripted out a second ago! He glanced at Malcolm for help but, seeing the raised eyebrow and almost invisible smirk of amusement, guessed he wasn’t going to get much assistance. “Aw, hell, I’m so sorry, Malcolm. I said some- I wasn’t thinking clearly an’ I said pretty dang horrible things. I wasn’t patient, I didn’t wanna think about the things I’d said for too long, so I pushed you to forgive me an’ when you didn’t… I got mad as hell.”

“Trip-”

“It just kept gettin’ worse an’ worse, didn’t it? I was angry. I was lookin’ fer a way ta hurt you – and I found it. I hurt you bad, I couldn’t find a way ta fix things… and then you got sick and I was afraid I’d never get the chance to make it up ta you-”

“Trip, please.” Malcolm’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it did an effective job at shutting Trip up. “I don’t want to hear it. Like, I really, _really_ don’t want to hear it.”

Trip’s heart leapt to his throat. “Malcolm-”

“Just- stop already. Will you?” No malice was present in the Lieutenant’s tone. Instead, it weighed heavily with fatigue. “I don’t need any long-winded apologies. I don’t need explanations or a recap of all the things you did wrong. For once, Trip, can you let me do the talking?”

Shutting his mouth with a snap, Trip nodded.

* * *

All he really wanted to do was sleep, despite how fruitless his past attempts had been. He didn’t feel like talking right now. Why had he said that? What kind of being possessed him for that split second?

Oh, well. He had no way of escape now. Malcolm took a deep breath and began to speak.

“It… takes me a long time to put my trust in someone. A _very_ long time. As I’m sure you know. It takes even longer for me to call people… my friends. Too many times I’ve been hurt in the past by these very people. Too many times I’ve let my guard down, and had it result in pain. When you… yelled at my in the hallway that day, you became one of those people.

“I didn’t plan on making any friends on this mission. That’s the very reason why I kept a low profile, devoted myself to my work instead of socializing. You… broke down those walls I’d built ever so carefully. You, the Captain; Travis and Hoshi; Ensign Meng and Subcommander T’Pol. I knew it was only a matter of time before one of you, at the very least… proved my original reasoning right.”

The hurt that flashed across Trip’s face almost made Malcolm break down. Curse his weakness. He couldn’t bear seeing people hurt – it was one of the reasons he became a tactical officer. Seeing people hurt by his own doing, though, was much worse.

 _Even if it’s justified?_ challenged a voice in his head.

 _Yes,_ Malcolm replied immediately. _Even then._

* * *

Trip hadn’t expected forgiveness. In fact, he’d been prepared for Malcolm to put the boot to his back end and tell him never to speak to him again. What he hadn’t prepared for was Malcolm spilling his feelings like that.

He stood there dumbly for a minute, tears welling up in his eyes. Malcolm had his back to him now and was leaning against the wall, shoulders drawn, one hand over his face. His breaths were coming in uneven gasps – an attempt to keep from crying, Trip realized.

“I didn’t know,” Trip whispered finally. Pathetically. “I’m sorry, Malcolm, I… _god._ ” His legs too weak to support his weight, Trip collapsed onto the edge of the bunk. “I did that to you. Jesus Christ, I’d hate myself for that as well.”

“I never said I hated you,” came Malcolm’s voice.

Trip’s head flew up. “Huh?”

Slowly, Malcolm turned back around. Not a single tear had fallen, though his eyes were red and watery. “I don’t hate you,” he repeated. “I’m willing to forgive you, actually. In time. Give me time, Trip. You’re still my friend. My best friend.”

Trip choked on air. He had to be dreaming, right?

But the sudden weight change against the mattress, indicating Malcolm had sat down beside him, was no dream.

“You… actually forced me to realize something, Trip,” continued the Lieutenant. “After you yelled out my phobia for all the ship to know, I wasn’t treated any differently. None of my crew gave my looks of pity or anything of the sort. It took a weight off my chest, actually.”

“I’ll make it up ta you,” Trip blurted.

A quirked eyebrow met him at that statement. “You’ll make what up to me?”

“Spiders.”

“You’ll… give me spiders? To make up for me realizing something important?”

Trip forced his mind to stop running on ahead and clarified: “I’m afraid of spiders. Y’know. How yer afraid of water.”

“Drowning,” Malcolm corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

They fell into silence, each man enjoying the other’s presence – nothing about it was awkward. Trip, for one, was just happy to know that he hadn’t lost the best friend he’d ever had.

“Thank you, though. For telling me your fear. Although, to truly make it up to me, perhaps you can go tell Travis and thirteen others.”

Trip’s face went beet red. Stumbling over his words to find a correct apology, he was stopped by the sight of a grin on Malcolm’s face.

“Forgive me,” said the Lieutenant. “That was an inappropriate joke.”

Trip snorted. Soon, this morphed into a chuckle, and then into laughter, and suddenly there were tears running down his face as he laughed and Malcolm was right beside him laughing as well, and the world slowly started to shift back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!


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